


i know i'm a mess he don't wanna clean up

by Shrinkadink



Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Eating Disorders, M/M, Trigger Warning: Eating Disorders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 12:33:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shrinkadink/pseuds/Shrinkadink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been with him so long Dean feels like it's a part of him now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i know i'm a mess he don't wanna clean up

**Author's Note:**

> serious trigger warnings: This deals with an eating disorder, if you're even a little bit worried about being triggered please avoid. I've struggled with eating disorders and this was quite cathartic to write but I really really don't want to be responsible for anyone getting triggered.
> 
> answer to this kink meme prompt: Dean isn't small purely because of genetics. When he was younger, he suffered from an eating disorder that stunted his growth. The disease carried over into his adult life, the pressure to be beautiful and his own nonexistent self-esteem keeping him from recovering. He frequently forces himself to vomit or avoids meals completely, but sometimes binges and spirals into massive episodes of hysteria that he struggles to hide. The Hobbit cast is suspicious of his behavior and soon finds out about his unhealthy habits. Cue absolute shock that someone as happy and gorgeous as Dean could hate himself so much and plenty of the cast having feels and comforting poor Dean.
> 
> disclaimer: Even though it's rpf i'm not saying any of this is in any way factual. title is lyrics from Paper Bag by Fiona Apple

 

Dean’s always been small, it was why his agent even noticed him in the first place. “You were like a little pixie just dancing around that stage!” she’d told him. “I knew you’d be fabulous for the screen, just fantastic!”

And so that had been his thing, the small blond kid with the dimples and the innocent smile.

“So sweet!” he’d hear casting agents marvelling over his test shots. “Just look at that face of his, so angelic.”

When he was fifteen he went through a growth spurt. It wasn’t by much, small genes have always run in his family, but it was enough that he started noticing changes. His voice got deeper and he started getting a faint dusting of pale hair in places he never had before.

One day, behind the scenes of a series he was cast in, a woman from the wardrobe department had pinched him in the side with a teasing smile. “You’re getting big,” she’d said. “Careful you don’t turn into a little porker.”

She’d meant it as a joke, but it had struck Dean deeply. He’d looked at himself with a new light then, noticing all the changes in his body and hating them. He wasn’t a small child anymore, he wasn’t ‘cute’ anymore, was he becoming ugly? What if no one ever wanted him again?

So Dean cut down on his food. He became strict with his diet, rigid. While his kid brother spent his pocket money on sweets, Dean refused. He’d eat mostly veg and complain bitterly to his mum that she never made anything healthy. Everything she cooked was stodgy and filled with grease and lard; it made him feel sick just looking at it.

His parents put up with it for a while, they switched to turkey and other lean meats, they cooked more and more veg and they only bought snacks they knew that Brett liked.

But when Dean starts losing weight, even while he’s supposed to be growing taller and getting bulkier as is natural, they put their foot down. They start insisting he eat more and if he doesn’t, they’re pulling him from acting. So Dean has to get sneaky about it. Because all he’s ever wanted to do is act. He pockets what food he can at the table to throw out later and when he has no choice but to eat, he makes himself sick in the privacy of the bathroom, emptying his stomach of the unwanted calories. It’s awful, making himself sick, he prefers not eating to having to deal with the aching throat and the bloodshot, weeping eyes. But the thought of his body absorbing all that food, the uncomfortable way it weighs him down and distends his stomach, that’s enough incentive for him to purge when necessary. Because that feeling of emptiness when he’s done, it always makes it worth it.

It’s not that he has a problem, it’s just that he needs to watch what he eats, he’s expected to look a certain way and that means he has to be a little more strict on himself than most.

When he’s eighteen, he moves out on his own then it gets a lot easier. Suddenly Dean has the freedom to eat what he likes, which is oftentimes very little. He stocks up on vegetables, fruit, fish… anything safe. He also has the newfound freedom of exercise. If he ever tried to do too much at home his parents would get suspicious. Now there’s no one to stop him.

The weight starts dropping off him and he’s never looked better, which is convenient because he’s just landed himself a job on Hercules. He’s topless almost all the time and next to the human beanpole that is Ryan and the human tank that is Chris, there’s a lot of pressure for him to look his best.

He uses them as an incentive, a friendly competition of sorts. Of course he never tells them but each time he gets a comment off them, every time he catches them looking at him with a hint of envy, he takes it as a personal victory. It’s tiring, exhausting even. Most days he comes home shaking and so tired it’s all he can do just to collapse in bed and curl up under the covers.

The director pulls him aside one day, asks if he’s ok, says he’s looking pale and a little ill. Dean says he’s fine even as he glows with internal pride because in his mind, any comment is a good thing. If he looks ill then that has to mean he looks thin, that has to be a good thing. He increases the frequency he uses his fake tan, covers over the dark shadows under his eyes with bronzer and the director never says anything again. If Dean can just keep going how he’s going he’ll be perfect.

Then the Hercules job ends and Dean doesn’t work for a while.

He gets a little desperate, thinks it has to be something he’s doing; he’s not trying hard enough. So he puts his all into perfecting himself. He draws up a meal plan for the week and he sticks to it, any time he’s not going to auditions, he goes to the gym.

That winter Dean catches a cold that he can’t quite shake. He can never seem to get warm and he develops this deep rattling cough that hurts and has him trembling for hours after a fit. He feels weak, so weak, and one morning he just can’t get out of bed everything hurts so much. It’s his brother that finds him, drives him straight to the hospital where they put him on a drip and feed him through a tube. The doctor comes in looking real serious and talking real quiet, he asks Dean if there’s anything he needs to talk about, that he’s severely malnourished.

Dean says there isn’t, says he’s just been feeling under the weather recently and the cold’s really knocked him for a loop.

Eventually, he’s released. Brett drives him back to his and he tells Dean he’s going to stay with him for a few days, just til he’s feeling better. He comes into Dean’s room one night in tears. Tells Dean he’s scared for him, has been for a long while, they all have. He just wants Dean to get better, doesn’t want to lose him. Dean tells him he’s fine. To prove it, the whole time Brett’s there Dean eats what he’s given, even when it makes him feel sick, thinking of how every bite is going to stick, thinking of just how much exercise he’ll need to do to work it off. But he keeps it down, he swallows it and he bites his tongue and he smiles at Brett and promises him over and over that he’s fine.

Eventually, Brett leaves, when Dean’s strong enough. Brett hugs him and comments through happy tears how good it is to see colour in Dean’s cheeks again, how nice it is to hug him and not feel just bone.

Dean smiles and pats Brett’s back and waves him off, then he goes to his room and he cries, feeling sick to his stomach.

Dean works furiously in the gym until he’s exhausted each and every day until that layer of fat he’s gained around his middle is gone again. He cuts down the time he sees his family, figures it’s only going to hurt him and them. They needn’t worry, but they do, and he can’t be dealing with that.

People ask him how he does it, how he has the same body he had when he was eighteen, even into his thirties he’s svelte and trim. He never gives them a proper answer, he just smiles and shrugs and says he guesses he’s just lucky. Good genes he says.

When he gets the Hobbit job, that’s his big break. He knows it, everything up until now has just been practicing, this is where it really counts. This is when people are really going to be watching.

It’s hard at first, trying to find the balance. The work is taxing, even more than his Hercules days and he’s not young anymore, he’s not fit and spry like he used to be. He needs to find a way to keep his strict eating regimen without fainting under the heavy costume. The exercise isn’t a problem; he gets enough of that in the boot camp and the acting. But the eating is a problem. He can’t eat alone because there’s so many of them and they all have their breaks together. He can’t eat what he normally eats because they notice. _You’re not eating just that are you?_ They ask as they look over at his green salad while they chow down on burgers and chips and quiches and god knows what else. _No wonder you’re such a slip of a thing, come on get some protein down you!_

So Dean tentatively starts to eat more and more and to compensate he starts to purge. He absolutely hates it, but it’s the only choice he has. He skin becomes puffy and his throat becomes raw and the makeup department start having to use stronger and stronger glue on his moustache and his nose.

It’s not pretty, but this is the price he must pay.

One day, he’s coming out of his trailer he finds Aidan leaning against the doorway, looking at him with concern.

“Are you ok?” Aidan asks. Dean realises Aidan must have heard him being sick and he wipes his running nose and he sniffs.

“Think I’ve got food poisoning.”

“Maybe you should take the day off?”

“Nah I’ll be fine.”

Aidan nods but he doesn’t look convinced. He keeps looking at Dean and Dean wishes he would stop, it’s making him feel nervous, it’s making him feel trapped.

He begins to feel panicky because more and more people start watching and noticing. He finds he’s able to steal away less and less and unable to purge, he can feel the stodge and the fat soaking into his skin, making him feel slow and disgusting. He becomes slightly manic because what the fuck can he do to get out of this? He feels like a bug under a magnifying glass, trapped between two specimen slides being poked and prodded and turned over and over. He starts snapping at people more and more because why can’t they just leave him alone? He’s a coyote and they’re the trap and he’ll gnaw his own leg off if it means getting away from them.

Dean comes in one morning and Aidan and Graham are talking, heads bowed together and frowning at the ground. They fall silent when they see him; Aidan looks away like he’s guilty.

“What?” Dean demands. “What’re you talking about?”

“We’re worried about you,” Aidan says.

“Well don’t be.”

“Dean please, we know you have a problem.”

“A problem!” Dean laughs like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s heard and his heart is racing and his eyes are darting, searching for an escape route but there is none. Everywhere he turns there’s prying eyes, judging faces and it’s all too much, he feels like he can’t breathe. “Just mind your own business, I’m fine,” he says. “I’m fine!”

He’s not fine. He’s weak and he’s frail. His nails are splitting under his gloves and his throat is red raw. Just the other day he purged and it came up red with blood. The costume feels like a dead weight on his shoulders, dragging him down and his breath comes in wheezes like he’s asthmatic. He’s falling apart bit by bit and there’s nothing he can do to stop it and he’s convinced it’s the stress, if they’d just give him the chance to get everything in order, if he wasn’t spending so much damn energy trying to hide from them. Then he’d be fine.

The day he collapses on set he’s almost relieved because finally he can rest. Finally he can just close his eyes and let go. He’d been tethered to the tree when it happens. His head had been fuzzy since lunch and he’d had to blink his eyes over and over just to focus. Peter’s voice is far away when he shouts action and the tree starts moving and Dean is flung around like a rag doll, clinging to the branch with a fading grip. Aidan’s looking at him, he reaches out to him but Dean pushes him away. Then the room starts spinning and not because of the tree, it’s rolling and churning like the sea. He suddenly feels weightless, his legs like rubber and then he’s falling backwards. There’s a sharp tug of the harness and he swings round, colliding with the bark of the tree. Someone cries out, he only realises later that it’s him, then there’s shouting and he sees Aidan’s face over him, expression twisted with worry eyes red with tears. And then it goes black and Dean floats away.

He wakes up in hospital, strung up to machines with a drip in his arm and he remembers the last time he was here was with Brett.

_Not again_ , he thinks. How’s he going to explain it this time?

The doctors tell him much the same as last time, but they don’t buy that it’s just a virus. Malnutrition, they say that he has fissures in his oesophagus, that his electrolytes are severely imbalanced. They don’t tiptoe around it, they tell it to him straight, that if he keeps going how he’s going he’s going to end up back her or worse, he’s going to end up dead. They tell him he needs help.

Aidan comes in later looking frightened and nervous. He sits next to Dean and he takes Dean’s hand around the tubes and the wires and he squeezes.

“I’m worried about you,” he says. “We all are.”

“I’m fine,” Dean says. It’s beginning to sound less and less convincing even to him.

“You need help, Dean. Peter says… he says he’s thinking about recasting again.”

“He can’t, it’s too late.” Dean feels tears prickling his eyes, feels them run down the hollows of his cheeks, sharp, shadowed hollows, he hadn’t even realised how sharp they were, how much his bones were beginning to stick out. “I need this; don’t let him recast me please.”

“You need to get better.”

“I will,” Dean promises. “But I need this, please I can’t lose it.” And Dean knows it’s not that simple and yeah maybe he is fucked up and he’s been fucked maybe his whole life and that kind of thing can’t just be fixed overnight, but he needs this so much. If he loses this then he has nothing, he doesn’t know what he’d do.

“You need to eat. You need to keep your strength up,” Aidan says. “I’ll help you, but you need to let me.”

“I will,” Dean says. “I promise I will.”

“And Dean. When it’s over, when we’re done filming, you need to get better. Properly, you need to get help. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

It’s hard, it’s so hard because for so long it’s all he’s known and the thought of losing it, of letting it all go terrifies him and makes his heart race and his palms grow clammy… but he knows Aidan is right. God he knows it. “Ok,” he says, swallowing a lump in his raw throat. “I promise.”

It’s not easy. It’s the most difficult thing Dean’s ever done and he hates himself, he hates himself so much. But Aidan’s there every step of the way. Not just Aidan, the whole cast. They don’t make any more comments, they don’t ask him what he’s eating they don’t say one single thing about the way he looks or the way he is, but they’re all there, he can feel them. Sometimes it’s good; it gives him the strength he needs. Other times it’s suffocating and he will snap and snarl because damnit don’t they have anything better to do?

Every meal is a chore, every bite he swallows feels like a failure.

“I hate it!” Dean snaps one day, tears running down his face. “I hate myself, I hate every fucking inch of myself I can’t do it!”

Aidan just stares at him. He stands up from the table and Dean’s heart caves because he thinks this is it, this is Aidan giving up on him and when Aidan walks out the room Dean collapses feeling pieces of himself shattering. But Aidan returns holding a sheet of A3 paper and coloured markers. He draws up a chart for Dean, a weekly meal plan with foods that are high in protein and energy. He tells Dean there are ways of eating to fuel your body, that eating can give you strength, not just weigh you down. Dean’s not an idiot, he knows all this, but somehow, having someone there with him who won’t give up makes it easier. It makes him think that maybe he really can do this.

He gets through each day like it’s a small victory and each night Aidan hugs him and if just for that small genuine smile Aidan gives him, it’s worth it.

“You’re so brilliant,” Aidan says. “So good for doing this, you’re so strong, you’re amazing.”

Dean doesn’t feel amazing, but if Aidan says it, then maybe he can believe it.

The first time they kiss, it feels almost inevitable. It’s gentle and chaste; Aidan’s lips are warm and familiar in a way that only Aidan is. When they kiss Dean closes his eyes and lets himself float away.

Some days are worse than others. Dean’s self-esteem plummets as his weight goes up. He loathes looking in the mirror, would rather close his eyes and feign sleep than watch his reflection in the makeup chair. He’s grateful for the bulky dwarf clothing because at least it hides him.

“You’re beautiful,” Aidan tells him each night. The first night they sleep together Dean is terrified. He’s shaking and crying and begging Aidan not to look just to leave him alone but Aidan stays. He kisses Dean all over, down his arms and his legs, over his chest, and his ribs, pressing kiss after kiss right over his fluttering heart, kissing the tears from his cheeks and stroking fingers through his hair. “You’re the most beautiful, every part of you, you’re perfect, I love you.”

When Aidan sinks into him he covers him with his body and Dean feels small and delicate and he clings to Aidan as they rock together, gasping as he comes. Aidan stares down at him and there’s such love, such open devotion in his gaze that Dean believes him. He’s never loved anyone so much as he loves Aidan in that moment. “Thank you,” he sobs, “I love you.”

Aidan kisses him and tells him over and over and over that he loves him, that he’s beautiful, that he’s worth it.

One night they’re sitting alone curled up in each other and watching old episodes of Hercules. It’s weird but Dean asked Aidan to watch them with him, he supposes he wanted Aidan to see. They’re watching one of the later ones when Aidan pauses on a scene of Dean in his early twenties, he’s sans shirt with a dopey grin on his face and his ribs are jutting out, his collarbones like twigs. Dean didn’t realise it at the time, but he was so thin, he sees it now, even under the bronzer he can see what his director saw back then, can see that his concern was never a compliment.

“I didn’t realise it had been going on so long,” Aidan says, his voice shaking. Dean turns and sees that Aidan is crying, tears running openly down his cheeks.

“It’s all I’ve ever really known,” Dean says, honestly. Aidan chokes then, a desperate sob and he pulls Dean into a hug, holding him so tightly like he’s afraid that if he lets go he’ll lose Dean. Dean holds him, rocking them even as his heart skips a beat because Aidan’s reaction has scared him. It scares him because he recognises it in the faces of his brother and his parents and he knows now what it’s done to them.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says, to Aidan, to them, to everyone. He feels tears stinging his own eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

Aidan’s saying something, voice muffled in Dean’s shoulder and Dean pulls back so he can listen and Aidan’s whispering over and over,   _not your fault_ , _you’re strong, you’re so strong, you can do this, you’re strong._

“I’m doing it. Hey, look at me.” Dean wipes Aidan’s tears and he smiles at him. “I’m doing it because of you.”

“No.” Aidan shakes his head and he kisses Dean hard and desperate. “Not for me, do it for you.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say, so he kisses Aidan again.

They get through the filming and then it’s the press and the media circuses and the premiers and with all of them comes a world of new obstacles. Until then, Dean had been living in a cocoon, a happy little bubble of his newfound recovery with people who were close to him, who cared for him and loved him.

Now, now he feels like he’s being thrown right into the lion’s jaws.

“Dean, Dean look this way! Over here, Dean!”

“How physically taxing was your role, were you prepared?”

“You look good tell us your secrets!”

“Are you going to try and stick to your fitness regimen now it’s all over?”

The questions come from all directions and there are cameras everywhere and Dean doesn’t feel prepared, he feels wrong and disgusting and all he can think about is the food he’s digesting and how he wishes he’d prepared more for this, he’s not ready, he’s never ready.

“I can’t do this,” he admits going pale. Aidan’s with him in a second. He takes Dean’s hand and he leads him through the doors. He pushes through the crowds and he drags Dean into the bathroom where he locks the door and turns to Dean.

“You can do this,” Aidan says firmly. “You’re perfect, you’re wonderful. They’re nothing. They’re dirt. Dean look at me.” He takes Dean’s face in his hands because Dean can’t focus, he’s hyperventilating and he’s sweating and his shirt feels too tight and he can’t breathe. “Focus on me,” Aidan says. “I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere. You can do this. Just breathe; we’re not going anywhere until you’re ready.”

“Aid,” Dean gasps. “Oh God, Aidan.”

“It’s ok, you’re ok baby, we can do this together, I love you.”

Gradually, Dean’s breathing begins to slow. The room stops spinning and he grips onto Aidan’s hands, letting the way their fingers lock together ground him. It’s just him and Aidan, that’s all that matters. He’s not going to fall because Aidan won’t let him, Aidan will never let him. He’s going to stumble; he’s going to stumble a lot but Aidan will always be there to help him up. Aidan will always be there.

“I’m ready,” Dean says finally. Aidan searches his face, looking for any signs of a lie; he seems satisfied that there isn’t because he nods his head and unlocks the door.

The rest of the night, Aidan doesn’t let go of his hand, not once.

And then the premiers are over and they’re left with just each other and that’s when Dean’s real battles start.

Aidan holds him true to his promise. He got him through the filming and the junkets but now Dean needs to get better, for himself.

He goes to counselling. He talks about his life. He talks about everything even the things he didn’t think needed to be said. He opens wounds that he’d thought were long scabbed over and it hurts, god it hurts. For a long time he feels like he’s getting worse, not better.

He relapses. Not just once, but over and over it feels like. Each time he hates himself, each time he begs Aidan to forgive him and each time Aidan just holds him and tells him there’s nothing to forgive, he just wants him to get better.

Aidan stays through it all. Aidan, his rock, his constant. He’s there in the mornings and the evenings, he’s there for the counselling and he’s there for the moments in between. He’s there for every one of Dean’s victories, every meal that he has that doesn’t make him want to die. He’s there for the ugly bits, when Dean’s feeling vicious and mean like that coyote gnawing at its own leg to escape. He’s there in the broken moments that follow, kissing Dean and telling him that he loves him and that he can fight this, that he knows Dean can fight this.

And Dean does fight it. Slowly, with tiny, tentative steps, he gets to a point where he thinks maybe there’s a way out. He learns to be kinder to himself. His counsellor told him once to never speak to himself in a way that would lose him friends if he ever spoke to them like that. For a while Dean doesn’t get it, but then suddenly he does. He learns to stop punishing himself, he starts treating himself with kindness. Like the coyote in the trap, he treats himself like a frightened animal. Gentle, encouraging rather than damning, and one day he realises that his mind isn’t such an ugly place to exist anymore.

The next time he sees his parents and his brother, they’re crying; only this time it’s with happiness. They hug him and they kiss him and they tell him they love him, and when Dean says that he’s trying to become the son they can be proud of again they tell him they’ve always been proud. There has never been a time when they haven’t been proud.

 


End file.
